


Ever is an epic word

by Thaum



Series: Of elves and men [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Depression, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 20:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thaum/pseuds/Thaum
Summary: Bard tries to offer emotional support but gets rejected and has a hard time witnessing how the millenia are taking its toll on the Elvenking.





	Ever is an epic word

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language. Be nice.

He'd lost track of time. Again. It had happened more frequently over the last years. Or were it decades? Centuries? He tilted his head and stared his nose down at the man in front of him. Bard the Bowman. The Dragonslayer. No.. Bard the King now. Laketown.. His brow creased slightly. It wasn't that his memories were failing him, quite the opposite. He remembered every single word that had ever been spoken to him. Every face that ever looked upon him. Every elf he led into battle just never to return. Everbody he loved, lost, failed. No, his memory was clearly fully intact, more than he liked it to be. It just happened lately, that he couldn't keep the timeline right. Sometimes everything seemed to exist all at once. Past, present, even the future.. he'd never been blessed with the gift of foresight, but his dreams had become more and more disturbingly foreboding. Sometimes while dreaming, he wasn't even asleep. Or maybe he was, while he thought to be awake. He had the unsettling feeling, that it wouldn't make a big difference. By the way, was this a dream? If so, what had the human to do with anything? He tried to catch a glimpse of the sky outside. Was the sun already setting..?

The King of Dale looked slightly troubled by now. What was this meeting about again..? The dwarves and their blasted mountain. He shouldn't have come here. Too many would die for nothing. He should have just waited until the problem solved itself. A hundred years more or less, it wouldn't matter. He should take his people and leave, save them the.. no.. he ran his hand over his face.. all this happened already. Why was it happening again? Was ist a joke? Where was Mithrandir? Had he not been here a minute ago..? No, this wasn't about war. It happened already, it couldn't be undone. Like so many things. This was about allies and a better future. Alliances of elves and men, like in the old glorious times. As if it had been glorious. Glorious were just the stories and songs. Very few who had seen it were still able to tell. His dreams were haunted by battles, almost no one in Middle-earth remembered first handed. Battles, woven in tapestries, brittle and thinning over the ages. Written in books, dusty and frail, surrendering to decay. But engraved in his immortal mind, clear and unyielding for eternity. He remembered every life that ended under his command and by his hands. Nothing could erase the horrific large, endlessly increasing number from his memory. Glorious. He almost snorted. 

Meanwhile, Bard was watching him warily. His gaze flitted to the table in the corner, where the wine was kept, but he came to the conclusion, that Thranduil hadn't touched it at all. For a moment he seemed to ponder, if this fact was a reason to worry as well and he was obviously quite uncomfortable. The Elvenking decided to put him out of his misery and gifted him with an apologetic smile. "I am sorry. I am feeling.. tired. I didn't sleep very well."

Bard didn't believe a single word. "You seem to feel..  _tired_ for quite a time now, my Lord. I have to say, I am a little worried."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him. "Worried? I assure you, there is nothing to worry about. I have our borders secured. The dwarves agreed to the treaty you worked up. Your people are safe. I garanteed for it and I will stand to my word." _And I will remember it, when no one remembers your name and the elves are stories in books, written by men who have never seen one._

Bard shook his head, rested his elbows at the table between them and leaned over. "I am not worried about the King of the Woodland Realm. I am worried about you."

Thranduil stared at the strange human being in front of him. Hadn't he met him just yesterday for the first time? His hair had started to gray at the temples. Otherwise he seemed the same, he used to be, when he had been just Bard. And there he sat, Just-Bard, the mortal, offering friendship to him, Thranduil. But when he took away the crown, the duties, the elaborate robes.. what was left? When he took away all the things that held him up? When he lifted the charms he hid behind? He knew, what was left. And he doubted very much, that it was something the man in front of him was prepared for. What would he say then? It was almost tempting to try. To let him look into the face of the monstrous creature he was. Would he run? Or.. no, he didn't believe he would. He still sat there, his eyes full of honest concern. A strange man, indeed. He wouldn't run. He wouldn't judge. And he would die so very soon.  _Come and gone within a blink of the eye._  

Thranduil smiled again, stood and retreated a few steps. "But I _am_  the King of the Woodland Realm. And I will endure it."

"If you ever .."

The elf raised his hand to stop him. " _Ever_ is quite an epic word for an immortal."

Bard leaned back in his chair and looked sad while he watched the Elvenking summon one of his guards to fetch his elk. He almost pitied the startled soldier. He himself winced slightly, no matter how much he tried to hide it. He shook his head again and tried it a very last time: "And that's it? You - King of the Woodlands - are a fool, if that is your answer." His voice sounded rather pleading than offending and Thranduil turned away, didn't take on the offered argument. And Bard couldn't blame him. Maybe he was even right to do so. But it hurt so very much.

Only when Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, stepped out of the tent, he remembered, that his elk had been dead for almost two years. The pained look on the face of the human as he watched him leave, escaped him.


End file.
